


Coverboy Pretty, Stamped with a Beauty Mark

by GwiYeoWeo



Series: 99 Problems and a Kink Ain't One [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 20!Noctis, 20!Somnus, Day 11: Mirror Sex, Kinktober 2019, M/M, time travelling gone sexual?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 18:43:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21141425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo
Summary: “You’re thinking again,” Somnus reprimands, voice just a mark away from a growl, “of something other than me.”As if in punishment, the man digs his fingers into Noctis’ thighs — just another set of marks to add to the blooming bruises along his wrists and the curious rough circles on his collarbones and neck — and hoists his hips up into a better angle to slam himself into.Umbra sends Noctis way,waaaaayinto the past and into Somnus' own bed. Well, the second part he did himself.





	Coverboy Pretty, Stamped with a Beauty Mark

**Author's Note:**

> technically, if you two look 99% the same it'd be 'mirror' sex right ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The Royal Lucian genes are a helluva thing. 

When Regis once remarked how similar his son looked to his father Mors, Noctis thought it was pretty common and definitely nothing out of the ordinary. If his biology classes taught him anything, it was that grandchildren can bear a striking resemblance to their grandparents compared to their parents. Noctis had only seen Mors through news articles and the grand portrait adorning the Hall of Kings, its walls dedicated solely to the everlasting frames of royals past. He couldn't really see how a gray-haired man could look so close to 15-year old him, but when he Moogled a younger snapshot of Mors he almost mistook the old photo as himself.

There were definite similarities in bone structure and hell, even that tiny mole near the corner of their mouths. 

But this? This is like staring into a straight-up  _ reflection. _

He’s literally looking up, eyes half-lidded and face twisted in pleasure with a touch of pain, but through the haze of heat lighting up his body and mind, Noctis can’t help but think of the irony and plot twist and — 

“You’re thinking again,” Somnus reprimands, voice just a mark away from a growl, “of something other than me.” 

As if in punishment, the man digs his fingers into Noctis’ thighs — just another set of marks to add to the blooming bruises along his wrists and the curious rough circles on his collarbones and neck — and hoists his hips up into a better angle to slam himself into. 

It does the trick. Something like fire and lightning, something like  _ magic _ hits Noctis in all the worst and best ways, and he scrambles for purchase, hands flinging up to claw at the pillows as he arches his back and  _ keens. _

He’s learned that Somnus can be gentle in his own ways, if one overlooks the narcissism that veils his true heart — a heart that, beyond blood and family and love, treasures his people and will tread through fire and sacrifices if (when) necessary. But the young king makes for a rough and merciless lover. With every brutal thrust, he draws out a sob and smiles ever the wider for it, Noctis’ wanton cries a sweet music to his ears. He only slows when he has Noctis babbling his name in an incoherent string of stammers and gasps, rewarding him with a soft kiss to his temple before he picks up the unrelenting pace again. “Much better,” he purrs, watching the way his near-copy writhes and sings with a gaze that scorches.

Noctis will admit, that fucking his great-great-great-great-whatever  _ grandfather _ was never on his agenda; though given the many generations separating their blood, they were probably just as related, if not less, as he would be to Ignis or Gladio, considering how their families were borne out of the Caelum line to begin with. Hell, being transported all the way to this ancient Lucian era was a minor surprise to this fork in the road. The night before they set off for Ardyn and Insomnia, to reclaim the throne and bring back the light, he asked Umbra for a last trip down memory lane, only for the dog to throw him  _ ages _ further and in free fall thousands of feet up. Good thing he was used to falling by now, and he was never more thankful to still have his warping powers and the Armiger. 

Except, he sort of screwed himself over by warping right in front of Somnus Fucking Lucis Caelum. 

_ ‘Shiva’s tits, _ ’ he couldn’t help but think, not out of fear or anxiety but because Somnus looked exactly like he did when he was still twenty. He thought he must have landed in a time before all that… shit went down between the two, before Ardyn turned saint turned martyr trying to foolishly save the world one person at a time. Before Somnus went with the ‘go big or go home’ method and burned down anything that did so much as  _ cough. _

Before their clashing ideologies led them to clashing swords. 

He never really thought he’d be grateful for being stuck in the purgatory known as the Crystal, but it’s a perk to see their ancient history play across his eyelids like a giant home theater. 

Somnus probably shared similar thoughts at seeing his living reflection, considering the bulging eyes and the white cast across his face — which, really, would have been rather comical in any other circumstances — but it wasn’t until later when Noctis was one hundred percent sure that had been the reason, when he looked in the mirror and realized he was smaller and younger and  _ twenty again. _ Because while Noctis thought he was looking at a past version of himself, Somnus was looking at a near replica of his own. Age and all, minus the hairstyle.

Without revealing his true origins and the outcome of the future, Noctis had to think on the fly, and he still curses himself for not having the same quick mind that Ignis does (Did? Would? Time travel is weird). 

“I’m a Messenger,” he said a second too fast, internally beating himself up for being so godsdamn stupid. “I didn’t have a physical form, so I took on the first one I saw. You.”

It worked out in his favor that Somnus was never a god-fearing man, a downright heretic compared to Ardyn, but that explanation was enough to satisfy him. And his ego, probably, that a demigod would choose to liken himself to Somnus’ visage. Oh, and that he currently has said demigod moaning and flushed beneath him, pliant and desperate and sobbing with ecstasy.

_ “Somnus, _ ” Noctis cries out, hands moving from the pillow to grab at the man’s arms, blunt nails leaving pink trails in their wake. 

Somnus smiles at that, wicked and slow despite the exertion that sweats down his skin and brow. He recognizes the sudden tightness around his cock, of Noctis clenching around him and his stomach straining its muscles, as well as the swell that coils within his own. 

“Hold on, pretty thing,” Somnus purrs, moving one hand from Noctis’ thigh to his cock, keeping a grip just a hair from pain but miles away from release. “Together we go.”

_ ‘Arrogant prick, _ ’ Noctis thinks, despite the frustration and heat haze of pleasure filling his mind to the brim. Somnus may as well stand in front of a mirror and flirt with himself if he’s going to continue spewing words like that at someone who looks exactly like him. But he’s teetering on the edge, held back by a cruel hand and a vicious pace, and he’s desperate enough to even meet Somnus’ thrusts by rocking his own hips in conjunction. 

It’s not long until Somnus gives out, and Noctis thinks he blanks out for a moment when all he sees is white, when that same exhilaration runs through his nerves and spine and taps into something deeper than a great orgasm ever could. 

Their first time together, Noctis was stuck between fear and wonder when he came to the realization that his magic, as faint as it is ever since it had been culled by that Marilith attack, was reaching out toward Somnus’ own and that — yeah. That’s kinda  _ weird. _

He’s had sex with others before, men and women alike, some ending poorly and others fan-fucking-tastic. But that whole magic thing? Still virgin territory. The side-effects of fucking another Caelum, he now knows. He still hasn’t hashed out the details of it, though Somnus is becoming ever the wiser about it, who first chalked it up to the benefit of fucking a so-called Messenger but now has his own suspicions. A matter of time before the ruse is up and Noctis has to come clean about it all like, “Hey! I’m actually from the future and your great-times-a-hundred-somethin’-grandson. The future’s shit, by the way, cause Bahamut and all of you are dumbasses!”

But for now, Somnus cleans them up with nary a fuss about dirtying his dainty royal hands as he wipes them both down with a wet cloth, which is surprisingly soft and fluffy for their time period. Sure, he could be a dick and a half when it came to his personality, but Noctis likes to think of him as a prissy cat that actually loves cuddles and attention. Especially when Somnus drapes an arm around him and practically buries his face into the crook of Noctis’ neck, breathing in their combined scents of each other and their aftermath. 

Noctis gently rakes his fingers through the man’s scalp and stares at the ceiling of the canopy bed, wondering how exactly his new ‘future’ will play out. He doesn’t know if or when Umbra will return to take him to the present — he turns his head at every faint bark he hears, and Somnus teases him for it relentlessly — and he damn well doesn’t know if anything he does here will change the timeline anyway. But he likes to believe and hope that he can do at least  _ something,  _ anything to lessen the blows of tragedy when they come. 

“You’re thinking again,” Somnus sighs, though his tone is less out of irritation and more of concern. Noctis has figured out how to read these tiny differences, like how those brows like to just slightly crease when worried or how he sets his jaw when angered. His eyebrows are lowered, barely, as his gaze searches for the cracks of truth hidden beneath Noctis’ true face. Too bad he won’t be getting them, not now. “After such a rousing time, even.”

“Messenger problems.” Noctis turns his head to return the gaze, but less inquisitive and more secretive. 

“Then tell me, dear night.”

Noctis feels something funky in his chest. Which he’s quick to ignore because he definitely does not want to admit what it is. He lightly taps his forehead against Somnus’ own, craning his neck slightly to meet each other, and does his damned hardest to look at him with as much feigned honesty as he can muster. It’s gotten easier lately, to lie and twist half-truths, but not without effort. 

“One day. When you’re ready.” 

_ ‘When I’m ready, _ ’ he means instead. He wants to trust Somnus, but he won’t be ready for the backlash if the worst case scenario happens. 

Somnus stares back, lips working themselves into a retort and Noctis expects an argument or a demand to know  _ now. _ It wouldn’t be the first they clashed with words, Somnus standing on his pedestal and believing his birthright and lineage granted him the secret musings of the gods with Noctis standing just as stalwart and refusing to budge. But tonight instead, he harrumphs and concedes to their middle ground, closing his eyes and burying his face further into the crease between Noctis and the pillows to murmur, “It best be soon, Noctis. I am not known for my patience, unlike my long-suffering brother.” 

Noctis only manages a hum, pushing back the anxieties and what-if’s should that time come. When it comes, he corrects. He knows it’s inevitable, that the truth will rear its head one way or another. But it’s up to him on how it’ll all play out and if the results will end up in fortune or disaster. 

Right now, though, he’s exhausted — the good kind, not the fatigue that makes his bones ache and his muscles quiver — and Somnus is true to his name, pulling Noctis into sleep with his warmth and soft breath ghosting across skin. He’ll put more thought into it in the morning, come up with a more serious plan rather than half-ass snippets. Sooner rather than later, because Noctis isn’t known for his patience either.

“Goodnight,” Somnus manages through the lethargy in his voice.

“Good… sleep.” Noctis glances down in hopes of catching a reaction to his pun.

And he does, when Somnus opens his eyes for just a moment to make sure the other catches his  _ definite _ eye roll. Noctis smiles at that, and he takes that image with him into his dreams.


End file.
